The Fallen Star
by smedleynixar
Summary: A varied group of heroes sets out on the quest. Much personal content between them, action, friendships, love, etcetera, et al.
1. Chapter 1

It was night, and the twisted road ahead of her showed yet no end. Exiting the wooden pass-through, she saw her first corpse. Light shone on it from the streetlights. It elicited a sigh from her, a deep wounding sigh. She trod onward. Her hair, hung loose down her shoulders, had no touch added to it from her own or another's fingers. She saw a light, and another. She was on the right path. They were ramshackle in their set-up, and they seemed to light an area rather below than on the path she was taking. She noticed and felt the eternal night that seemed to hang level with her waist, and she thought, there is always night here. The next corpse, and she rushed forward hastily, seeing people crouched over it. She had a rudimentary background of healing, but instinct stopped her from calling out, and in a moment she knew why. Corpses were bent over the corpse.

She set into them with her axe and at no time at all they fell hacked to pieces. The mangled corpse at her feet began to sigh and groan. She realised it was getting up and out of sheer panic, she hacked and hacked until it was no more. Her heart throbbed hard. She had killed a villager. But her throbbing heart told her otherwise. It was the smell, the moment; the knowledge that it was already dead when it was getting up. But how? How had she known that? With overwhelming guilt, she walked on, and did not look back. Crows fought in the trees and one perched on the dead men.

She percieved fires and lights down the way, and men standing began to turn their heads toward her, and at once turned them away, for out of the bushes came more decomposing, ill-skinned, tortured, twisted bodies, certainly not corpses, but she could not even imagine how these things could be alive. She took one look, let out a worthy scream, and leapt into the battle fray. The lepers - she could only imagine they could be lepers - died.

A question needed to be asked. She rarely spoke, and called inward in search of her voice. Finally she mustered herself and went to the most heavily armed of the men.

"I seek the fallen star," she said in a quiet voice.

"Ah. The Slaughtered Calf. Leah," he said, half to himself, half to her, then, staring off into the distance, something lit his eyes when he said her name again: Leah. And the name also sounded in Minah's ears. Minah thought nothing of what he said. Something about a slaughtered calf, and what sounded like a pretty girl's name. "The Slaughtered Calf," he said again, "Leah." His eyes went up and down her body, which was barely covered in her skins.

"I do not know what you mean," she said forcefully, "'The Slaughtered Calf', 'Leah'. What does this have to do with a fallen star that I am seeking."

"I said, - I _meant_," he said, clearing up his weapon, " - by the way - very Northern weapons you have - good fighting." 'Good fighting' was a phrase she could understand. She nodded in approval. He kept looking at her. "Forgive me staring at you, but I've never seen a woman so muscular."

"I said," Minah said angrily, "a _fallen star._" It took him quite by surprise.

"You don't stand around to chit-chat, do you. Not that worriors like us like to gossip. Oh, yes, the fallen star. You look like a barbarian. You must have come, far." He lowered his voice to copy her tones. Her face revealed her anger at what she took as an attempt to mimic a simple-minded sort of speaker who only understood a sort of pig Sancturean.

"I have come, to look for a star that has fallen here. Where can I find a way to the crater, that it made?"

"The Slaughtered Calf Inn. Speak with Leah. If I have been telling them all day..."

Minah made no attempt to ask him who he had been telling all day. The gate opened for her and she walked in; a pile of bodies burning sent her nostrils flaring.

"Why are these bodies being burnt?"

"The dead!" said a guard, coming up and nudging her to see if she moved, and she nudged him back playfully, "why, everyone knows the dead are turning into the risen dead - rising from their graves, and skeletons do too, it's said."

"Everyone knows?" she said, sadly. "Then I did right in killing that man. Would a man, being eaten by the corpses, could he be - "

"Yes. Everyone knows if they're bitten or if blood is drawn, they're bound to come back. But we still try to take care of and settle the wounds of those who've been bitten. Hoping that one wound at least might not kill them. Sometimes they turn while they're alive."

"What is 'turn'; what does it mean?"

"From the dead into the risen dead."

"But while they are alive?"

"It becomes an infection, that they resemble the risen dead. That's why we burn the bodies. Or even their hands might start crawling about." He twisted his mouth in sickened feeling.

"Where is the Slaughtered Calf Inn?"

"Around this corner. This man here; would you mind talking to him? He seems suspicious. He says he wants to study Tristram's history, but knows nothing about it - I find that suspicious. And you look like a fighter." Honour. Minah's heart shone. She always felt honour from compliments - sincere compliments - on her fighting, and was reminded of home, where her prowess in battle had always been praised.

"Yes - that does seem suspicious. Excuse me," Minah approached the man, stood hung for a minute and then,

"You there. You say you have studied the history of Tristram. What is the history of Tristram?" it was a simple enough question, she felt.

"I don't know it. The horrific things I've seen since I've been to this place - yours and mine, New Tristram - have stopped any appetite I had for learning more." The pieces fell into place. She turned back to the soldier.

"I understand him," she said, "he has no interest in learning its history. Its history is too violent and bloody for him. The horrors of the town." The soldier nodded his head.

Though it was dark, the paved road fringed with lush grass and the cosy boarded up houses made her feel at once safe and in a stronghold that turned out evil. She did not mind the smell; she was used to _that, _at least, and there were new things to be seen.

Minah was wearing her furs; her hair still hung loose, with a few brambles in it (she had often to remove sticks, but she did not mind this mark of her womanhood, because it displayed the length of time since she was a girl that she had won her first major battle.

A preacher was sawing the air with his voice and she watched for a moment, then departed without listening. She had not much interest in any preaching or philosophy, or indeed, any religion except her god, Bal-Kathos. But she knew he would not be mentioned here.

She saw the sign lit up; the Slaughtered Calf inn. She went inside.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Minah entered the Slaughtered Calf Inn. The first thing she noticed was a horrid stench in the air; the room was leaking with the smell of wounded people with barely enough to bandage their wounds. She sat down. There was a neatly dressed woman beside the bar with her hair in a bow and braided. She looked very pretty, but though her clothes were neat, they looked well travelled, and she made an immediate impression on Minah, who thought that, as she was studying the woman so hard and was now being studied, she ought to address her. However, she was interrupted. Another woman strode in and ordered a pint of ale. Even with the smell: this woman had a strong stomach. The first woman left the room. Minah also had a strong stomach, and decided to join her. The woman she sat down next to was also neatly, but darkly, dressed, and wore a purple hood against her black hair.

"Hello," Minah said.

She was glanced over; though not more than a second, the glance convinced her that this woman could size things up in a second. She nodded.

"I am Minah,"

"Emma."

"I came here seeking the fallen star," said Minah, and sipped her ale. Emma sipped her ale, long, and turned her body to sit on the stool next to her. Under her cloak Minah saw a long bow strapped and smiled.

"A warrior!" she said, and nodded, smiling.

"I am no warrior. A hunter only. No sage. I come filled with rage against the demon and demonspawn of these lands. I come to hunt them. The star that fell in these lands could be, almost, my second choice of what I was after and what I came for." Emma drained her glass in one long sip, barely noticing, and her body language did not change one point in difference. Minah saw and admired her sense of balance.

"I enjoy only battle," said Minah simply, and the subject dropped, but for the raise of an eyebrow Emma shadowed her with.

"I do not enjoy battle. I enjoy death, torture and destruction; of those that enjoy death, torture and destruction."

"Then do you not - similar - the same?"

"Do I not mirror them, is what you mean to ask?"

"No - there are no mirrors in my land. Only ponds. Water."

"Turn around and look."

Minah did as she was asked, naively and quietly. Instantly she saw herself as if through another's eyes. Touseled red-blonde hair fell to her waist - very good protection against wind, and other things; they that could not spot her body through the hair were missing a blow. Her breasts and below the waist were clothed in fur. She saw nothing either attractive or unattractive; she saw only and approved the strength of her frame.

"Oh."

"You approve?" Emma, smiling, tapped her hand against the bar.

"No. I am too thin. It is from walking."

"Then you think I am far too thin."

"No," said Minah, wondering why the woman seemed to want to be insulted, "I think you are dextrous and fast. That is what I feel and see. It is perfect for an archer, but I do not usually see them. In my land we are seperated."

"Are those born weak only, taught to wield bows? That is what I have heard."

"You heard right," said Minah, "but those that are born weak are strengthened in the sinew by that task. I was lucky, I was born very strong. I was a strong, healthy baby. I grew into the warrior you now see before you."

"Are you the daughter of a chieftain? I have not travelled far before. Forgive me for my lack of knowledge." She chortled.

"I am not."

"And your family? Do they thrive where you came from?"

"They thrive. I have a baby brother just born, unexpectedly, before I left. I have a mother and a father, but they do not live together, as people do here. It is rather odd that their only children were born between that same man and the same woman. It is not usually that way."

"You must miss them."

"Bah. No family bonds thrive. All my tribesmen are brothers and sisters."

"You must miss _all _of them, then."

"I do not. I see them in my dreams, and feel and hear them in the heat of battle. Their clamour, their feeling flows through me. As for speaking? Bah. We would rather spar than speak. I miss smiling with them, though."

"I miss my family," Emma said shortly, continuing the subject, then froze in an attitude that Minah could not question or comment further. She said nothing more. Minah, with ale inside of her, realised she had been questioned by the woman, rather than having a conversation; she did not long to continue it though, and was glad of the other's silence and peace. Emma said nothing, waited for Minah to speak further, and then seemed to mirror the pleasure at silence. Emma turned slightly and her keen eye spotted over the injured. She did not trust them, Minah imagined, and remembered what the man at the gates had said.

There was a slight movement at the door and Minah saw someone. No; not saw, rather _felt _his presence. It was a darkness at the door that seemed to hover around a man, then, with care and ceremony, he stepped through the doorway. He hovered, seeming to invent images in the air, and then approached them.

"Are either of you Leah?" he said, and Minah felt him to be - no, saw him to be a warrior, but of another place, and another sort. She turned toward him with respect, and saw him wince.

"Ah, no," said Emma, and raised the mug to him.

Minah shook her head, then said,

"I looked at a girl when I came in, I thought to be her," she said, "she looked well-travelled, about this woman's height, and she has gone into another room. She looked like a sweet young girl - is this whom you are looking for?"

"I have not heard her description."

"Join us for an ale," said Emma, unable to contain her curiosity.

"I cannot," he said, smiling, and immediately sat down and joined them anyway. There was a kind of fetish in his hand, and a knife at his waist. There were also plants and parts of animals strung out all around him. He looked like a complex image of the jungle.

"I am Master Igy," he said, "an Orisha, or Saint of my religion. It is religion I follow, that brought me here to - " he stopped, and fell silent.

"_Master _Igy?" Emma said, laughing, "what, a _schoolmaster._"

"You are not of my race or religion. Is that what you call a married man?"

"No, an unmarried one," Emma said, "in very well-to-do circles, at least."

"I know," he said, grinning, "I meant it in sarcasm. Many moons ago, your race used to hunt and enslave mine. It is not so now, and I am sure your hearts are good and your minds are pure. I do not know either of you. I should go now."

"Igy, we know your name," Minah shouted, "but you do not know ours. I am Minah. This is - "

"Emma," she said, and shook his hand. He let it fall limply out of hers. Minah tapped her head and ticked at him with her hand. She did not know his greetings. He copied hers, grinning. They had just invented a way to greet each other. They looked upon each other knowing that Emma had come from a place and a circle, that they knew of; they did not need to tell her that where she came from they knew was fairly well-to-do and primarily town-dwelling. Only people who live in that society do not know how conspicuous they are. She stared at them, senseless.

Igy was about to move away, but was stopped by the approach of another character through the doorway. He looked absolutely ridiculous. He wore a wizard's hat, of typical fame, and they were bright green, and so was he. He was handsome, and held his head high.

"I am looking for someone named Leah," he announced to the room. A few people shushed him.

"No? Then I had better go elsewhere," he said again, simply calling into the room en masse. "I am Eliot."

"Shut up," Igy said immediately, "we do not care who you are. If you want to speak to someone, speak to their face, not to their body."

Eliot the wizard lit a pipe, frowning at him, and Igy let fly from his own pipe (of a different kind) a dart which shot the thing out of his mouth and made it skid along the floor. He held out a hand, his body lifted off the ground and Igy was frozen with electricity. They were thrown out of the bar for brawling.

Emma and Minah laughed at each other, clinked mugs and went out of the door to find these two strange characters.

"Are you a wizard, _by any chance," _Emma snapped.

"I? I a wizard? How ridiculous," he said, his body still hovering off the ground, "I require them stopped at once, these crazy insidious rumours that I am a wizard."

"Shut up," said Emma, with a face of disdain.

"I don't know what a wizard is," said Minah, rather quietly, "but I see one before me, and you - you are - I do not know." She had no idea what to think. She had never seen such a thing before, and looked quietly on.

Eliot nodded at them, learned their names, and sighed.

"This Leah cannot be found. Shall we feast together?" He shut his spellbook, put it away, and when he found the prices too exorbitant for a leg of roast lamb simply created bread from the air with dripping, and did not share it with any of them. Minah quietly purchased a whole chicken and potatoes for her new friend Emma and Mister Igy, and Eliot insisted in chipping in one silver coin to share, and promptly took the finest cuts of meat. He found problems with everything: the waiter did not see him, so he gave him a static electric shock over the ground, causing the poor man to jump, and turn only to see Eliot drinking an ale, then look angry and call for service. Eliot evidently thought this very clever, and leaned toward the two women to see what they thought, and Mister Igy looked up and said clearly,

"No, for they do not like you," he nodded and looked up.

Emma snarled.

Minah patted his hand obviously feeling that he was childlike. He had no particular story to share with them. He avoided all questions about his personal life, and drank only water.


	3. Chapter 3

Igy, Emma, and Minah, went out into New Tristram to explore it and learn of its citizens before retiring to their overnight stay at an Inn. They mostly walked together

and were eyed by the locals, amazed at them for different reasons. Minah was a large woman, different from the high-voiced, pleasant young girls who lived in New

Tristram. What's more, the carried weapons and was known as a warrior who had journeyed far. Igy was totally out of place; his black skin made him immediately noticed,

and girls and women were afraid of him. The guardsmen treated him with a kind deference, but feared superstitiously his voudou. He was also a high priest of Santeria;

nobody knew what Santeria was. Some dark magic, they guessed. Emma lived in stealth and maintained a close secrecy about why she was there. Whenever they did see her

pass by it was with a determined stride, but her prettiness was seen, for Emma was pretty, very pretty, with pale white skin, dark eyes and a wonderfully slender but

curved out figure. They never saw her crossbows.

They walked through the streets. Minah approached a man that looked tough and stoic, but a woman suddenly, heedless of her own life, pulled Minah to one side. Minah

allowed it, since she could kill the woman with one arm if she had to.

"Don't you dare lift a finger trying to help the Mayor move his wagon. My brother died trying to defend the town, and that bloated coward tried to run away!"

Emma was horrified. She knew that men did not always be in the position to fight, but she immediately, with an angry look and flushed cheeks, strode over. Minah

watched over her shoulder.

"Emma," she called, "there is no point in starting battles that cannot be finished."

"I'll get him."

"No, you won't."

"Yes, I will."

"Kill or injure a townsperson? These people were merciful and kind in giving him sanctuary after he made a mistake. I look for the good in a character. I am sure he

feels it was a mistake to run away. Let the town deal with it, if it is a crime, in their own jurisdiction." It was the most Minah had said in one go. Igy peered at

Emma, hardly able to make out the shape of the person or what the problem was. Emma listened, and though she listened and took in the information, she - finally she

nodded abruptly in agreement and stepped back.

"Thank you, friend. You are wise and just."

"Thank you, friend."

Minah strode away to talk to the blacksmith. He introduced himself as Haedrig Eamon.

"Nothing ever seems to change in New Tristram, does it?"

She said she did not know.

"There's always some new threat of risen dead or of foul evil descending on the town, isn't there."

"I would not know."

They were attracted to each other, so they stood staring at each other for a good three minutes, until Haedrig turned his head away with a guilty grimace.

Eliot was in a sudden funk to be alone, so he found Igy's refusing to take the hint and leave him alone most annoying. The brown-skinned man was at his heel everywhere. Eliot raised his eyebrow at a group of giggling girls.

"Can you take the hint," Eliot said finally, "that you are not wanted? I wish to be alone."

"No," said Igy, and grinning, continued to follow him as he meandered past a small market and toward the gates. The smell from a pile of dead bodies simply overwhelmed him, and the last thing he saw before his eyes closed was the crackling light. He then fainted.

He awoke with Igy holding a concoction of herbs under his nose, smelling sweet and fresh.

"So I fainted looking at these bodies," he said, getting up. Igy was almost surprised. "I cannot believe it. I did not faint." But as soon as he had said this he rocked back, coughing, his handkerchief over his mouth.

"Best," said Igy, thinking a moment, "to harden your heart more against the sight of them, or gain a stronger stomach."

"Why would I have to harden my heart, they're dead."

"Then I think your heart is quite hard enough."

"What are we talking about my heart for?"

"I thought you fainted through the emotion of seeing such a thing overwhelming you."

"Not likely."


End file.
